Mathematical: High School AU
by EsaEnai
Summary: Finn has been writing stories all his life, jotting them down in his notebook. Stories about him and his brother Jake, where anything can happen. Where Finn can be the brave hero he's never been able to be. But now, it's freshman year, and Finn's about to meet a whole new set of characters. High School AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Recently got into AT, due to some constant pestering. Just a little idea I'm toying with. Let's see how it goes.**

* * *

Finn couldn't remember when he started writing stories, but he reckoned it was around the point when Jake went off to college. Right before he left, he handed Finn a present in a wrapped box. A bright red notebook.

"A notebook?" Finn had asked, wrinkling his nose. Jake had let out a calm chuckle, a familiar sound from him.

"That's right. A notebook. I'm not gonna be around to play Knights or Pirates or Super Ninja Zombie Killers anymore. At least, not for a while." Finn still remembered his brother's teenaged face, pushed right up into his. "So from now on, you get to play pretend by yourself."

Finn kicked his feet; at five years old, he was too short for his feet to reach the floor from the armchair. "By myself? How?"

Jake had grinned. "You're gonna write it," he said softly, tapping the notebook. "You learned how to write, right? Spelling and all that shiz?"

Finn had glared from under a mop top of blonde hair. "Of course; I'm five."

Jake nodded; Finn didn't realize until later that he was trying not to laugh. "Aces, bro. Aces. So, from now on, you get an idea for playing pretend? Write it down. And then, when you fill the book, have mom buy you a new one."

A slow smile spread over Finn's face. "I'm gonna write a book?"

Jake nodded. "That's right. A book about us. Where ANYTHING can happen. Where you're the hero, and I'm your trusty-"

"Dog?" Finn interrupted. He had just finished reading "Shiloh" and had made Jake play Dog all morning.

Jake laughed. "I was going to say 'sidekick,' but sure, why not? I guess I can be a dog." He sniffed in disdain. "Just goes to show how much you'll miss me…"

Finn had wrapped his arms around his brother's neck, jostling the woolen aviator cap Jake always wore over his ginger hair. "No, no, Jake," he muttered into his brother's neck, starting to cry. "I'll miss you. I'll miss you forever and ever. And you're still my big brother! Maybe… maybe I was 'dopted by a whole family of dogs! And the mama dog looked over at you and said, 'Here, Jake. This is Finn, our new puppy,' and you said-"

Jake hugged his brother back, hard. "Hey, hey, don't tell me," he murmured. "Write it down."

* * *

**Finn the Human emerged from his treehouse, blinking and stretching in the sun. He scanned the yard, eyes settling upon the only other person in sight- well, dog in sight. **

**Jake was sitting cross-legged on the law, hands on his knees and eyes closed. "Hey, Jake!" Finn greeted, nudging the dog's head with the toe of his sneaker. "What are you doing?"**

"**Hush up, man," Jake responded, keeping his eyes closed. "I'm connecting my mind to the internet, and your chatter is totally killing the vibe." All of a sudden, Jake's eyes snapped open and he stood up with a grin. "Oh, mathematical! Check it out, bro; I just downloaded this sweet dance." Jake started wriggling his arms and legs, stretching them out and shaking his behind.**

**Finn giggled and started dancing with him. "Algebraic!"**

**Jake smiled, starting to-**

"Tree-house has a dash in it, man," Jake said in Finn's ear, grinning maliciously.

"JAKE!" Finn yelped with alarm, slamming his spiral notebook shut and almost upsetting his cereal bowl in the process. He spun on the spot and glared at his older brother. "I told you- you're not allowed to read over my shoulder."

Jake chuckled, settling into the chair across the dining room table. His bright red hair glinted in the light of the sunrise. "And I'M pretty sure you should be eating, and not writing."

Finn blushed slightly, grinning back at his older brother. "Shut up; I got an idea in the shower and I wanted to write it down." He picked up his spoon and started poking at his cereal once again.

"Big day, today…" Jake said casually. Finn didn't answer. Jake sat forward. "FINN!"

"Huh-what?" the fifteen-year-old said, jumping slightly. His red notebook was sitting under his forearm on the table.

"Big day, dude." Jake rubbed at his forehead, aviator hat sliding up slightly. "Where _are_ you this morning?" He leaned across the table and tapped the notebook. "What were you writing about?"

Finn ducked his head and smiled. "I was remembering when you gave me my first notebook. Remember how I filled it up in a week?"

Jake laughed. "What I remember is an angry call from mom, wanting to know why you had filled an entire notebook with a story about her being a dog. I think she thought you hated her."

Finn felt the same tug in his gut that he got any time someone talked about his mom. A tug that reminded him of the days when he lived in Maine, with lighthouses and the smell of the ocean. When his life wasn't dependent on Jake's job. When he wasn't in a loft in New York, or a flat in Boston, or this two-bedroom apartment with Jake in Vermont. When his mom was still alive…

"Good old mom," Finn said softly. Jake's eyes saddened for a second, but he did his best to smile at his little brother.

Finn heard snuffling near his knee, and looked under the table to find an extraordinarily fat, bug-eyed pug panting expectantly up at him. Finn laughed, slipping the dog a piece of bacon. "Morning, BMO."

Jake scowled, scooping the pug into his arms where it sat, legs stuck out like an overstuffed teddy bear. "His _name_ is Benedict Munchausen von Olaf. He doesn't appreciate it when you call him by that _plebian_ moniker. Do you, sir?" Jake raised his voice in pitch. "_Most assuredly not, Jake. It is far too proletariat for the likes of me."_

"I say he's BMO," Finn said with a laugh, pointing at the dog with his cereal spoon and sending a dribble of milk across the table. "It's easier to say. And it makes him sound like a robot. You like it, don't you BMO?" The pug let out an _aroof_, squirming in Jake's lap.

"Look. I bought the thing, I name him. And stop giving him bacon." Jake set the dog down on the floor with a little groan. "Guy's starting to turn into flabby flab-flab."

"He doesn't mean that, puggy," Finn crooned as the pug waddled across the floor. "He's just jealous of your good looks."

Jake laughed, standing up and stretching. "Let's go, broseph," said, scooping his sheepskin jacket off his chair. "School starts in T-minus thirty minutes."

* * *

"You're kinda quiet this morning," Jake said aloud. The two had been riding in silence for a while, Finn looking at his shoes while Jake looked at the road. Finn shrugged.

Jake tried again. "I'm digging the hat." His little brother's blonde hair was almost totally hidden under a white, bear-eared hat the two had bought in New York. Finn smiled, but said nothing.

Jake swallowed hard. "Look, dude. I know this isn't how you wanted freshman year to start. But this is a good sign, alright? The principal really liked my resume. And he said they haven't had a music teacher in years. This could be a permanent gig, y'know?"

Finn was silent.

Jake sighed. "Look, dude. Just promise me you'll try to make friends, alright? Put the notebook down for a while. You might be surprised."

The rest of the car ride was silent, except for the constant tapping of Finn's fingers on the cover of his notebook, very close to the title. A title that had adorned every red notebook Finn had ever had, ever since he came up with it ten years ago.

_Adventure Time._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Pretty incredible how much of an impact this story has made on people. Thanks to all the great feedback and especially the reviews. Review with suggestions. I need all the help I can get.**

* * *

It was funny how one square of concrete can seem so big.

That was all that was standing between him and the door to Oliver Ordell High School. Weird name. All the upperclassman around him wore sweatshirts with the acronym on it, and Finn kept reading "OOH" over and over again.

Finn stared down at his white high-tops, wiggling his toes on the pavement. Every now and again, someone would bump his shoulders as they pushed past him, streaming into the double doors in front of him like so many bees into a hive.

Bees into a hive… that wasn't half bad…

With a practiced movement, Finn shoved the sleeve of his blue sweatshirt up and grabbed a chewed-up pen from his pocket. He never lost his pens; he just used and chewed them until they fell apart or ran out of ink. Jake would usually find one or two spread across the laundry after Finn forgot them in his pants pockets.

Tongue poking out of his mouth slightly, Finn scribbled a note to himself on his arm: _bees into a hive._ He'd have to use that later. Maybe in the new story about ninjas stealing diamonds…

"Hey, yo!"

Finn felt a sudden, dull pain in his shoulder, instinctively throwing out his hands as he was pushed to the ground. Sudden flashbacks of his middle school in Boston shoved violently into his mind. Bullies?

"Check yourself, bear-head!" the voice called again. Finn raised his eyes just in time to see a red plaid shirt round a corner quickly on a skateboard. The boy didn't turn around, and Finn scowled.

Jerk.

Gathering up his notebook and looking in vain for his lost pen, Finn straightened himself out. He had been shoved over the crack on the concrete. It was now or never.

"Alright, Finn the Human," he muttered to himself, squaring his shoulders and marching through the double doors. "Adventure Time!"

* * *

More like Boring Time.

His math teacher had introduced himself as Mister Leningrad, screeching the name out on the chalkboard in big, capital letters. From the top of his shiny bald head to the bottom of his shiny shoes, his gangly, jaundiced math teacher was just… _weird_. His voice went high and screechy at random points, and if a student raised their hand in confusion he'd make an odd noise; something like a groan and a yell. Worst of all, he had been talking for twenty minutes straight, and Finn wasn't yet sure he was speaking English.

Something about X and Y and _why_ were they trying to find them again? Who cared what X equaled? If X had this many problems it needed to solve, it could go figure them out by itself, thanks very much. Finn had enough problems.

And why were there even letters around to begin with? Letters belonged in English, which Finn _liked_. Numbers belonged in Math, which Finn _didn't_. Did some of the letter get up one day and go, "I sure am tired of being all English-y. Let's go be numbers for a while"? Well, stop it! Stay over in English class where you belong! Don't go getting up in Math's grill!

Needless to say, Algebra was not going all that well.

Finn let his head slump to the surface of the desk. Stupid block periods meant four classes a day. Four LONG classes a day. There was an hour left before science started. An hour of watching X and Y act out their little soap opera on the board while Mister Leningrad gargled on his own anguish in front of him. Was high school fun yet?

And then, Finn felt something tickle his face. His head snapped up in time to see a small slip of paper drift by his face and land on the desk. A note? Who would have passed a note to him? He didn't _know_ anyone.

Finn held the note under the desk, folding it open. In blocky handwriting were the words:

_Hey- Leningrad is a crazy poot-face._

Finn chuckled to himself, unthinking of the consequences.

"MISTER MERTEEEEEENS!"

Finn felt his stomach drop into his shoes. His eyes snapped up to find Leningrad staring daggers at him, eyes narrowed. He raised a hand to point. "What is that… thing?"

"Nothing," Finn responded quickly. Leningrad scowled and thrust his open palm under Finn's nose.

"Give," he commanded. The rest of the class began to titter. Finn swallowed and shook his head. Leningrad's eyes widened. "GIVE! NOOOOW!" he howled. Stunned, Finn handed the note to him, and the teacher read it quickly.

The result was electric.

Leningrad's eyes widened, then narrowed, then widened again. His face grew red, ears flushing scarlet. The room went silent once again. Leningrad sucked in a sharp breath through his nose that sounded like a walrus getting a colonoscopy.

"MERTENS! DETENTION! TODAY! LUNCH! GO TO THE… DETENTION PLACE!" Leningrad kept giving him a smoldering glare for a while longer before stalking away, back to the board.

Finn sunk down in his seat as the room began to laugh.

* * *

The biology room was at least a little more interesting. At least, it would have been if his fellow freshman from last period didn't keep smirking when he walked by them. But who wrote the note? No one seemed guilty, or proud of themselves. The looks they gave him where somewhere between "Oh, there's a bug on the floor" and "I think I saw that kid in McDonald's one time."

But BioLab was cool. Beakers, test tubes, incubators- everything you needed to be a mad scientist, minus the lab coat and evil laugh. As he made himself comfortable on his stool, a girl sat down next to him.

Her hair was long and black, constantly falling out from behind her ear. She gave him a look out of the corner of her eye, and got an odd expression on her face. Something about her intimidated him. But, remembering what Jake said, he tried to be friendly. He raised his hand in a half-wave. "Hey. I'm Finn."

She looked him up and down, nodded, and looked away. Finn frowned, trying not to feel too disappointed as the teacher took the front of the room.

He was short, fat, and round as an egg, and introduced himself as Gunter (no last name, no 'Mister,' just… Gunter). In a squawky voice he told them to complete a lab worksheet, mixing a few harmless chemicals to make a solution change from clear to green to pink to clear. Then, he retreated back to his office and shut the door.

The class erupted into chaos. Boys flicked syringes of chemicals at each other; girls abandoned their tables and started talking, and one muscle-bound boy named Ricardio began taking bets on whether he should drink the clear stuff or the pink stuff and which would kill him.

Finn was so busy watching his BioLab become "Lord of the Flies" right before his eyes that he almost didn't notice the girl next to him start to laugh. He spun on the spot to find her staring over his head and giggling. But there wasn't anything behind him. Only a window.

And a boy behind it, crouching in the bushes. He was peering through the low window, white-blonde hair falling long onto his back. His T-shirt read "KISS MY ASH." Finally, he caught a glimpse of the girl next to Finn and grinned at her, waving her over. The girl swept her stuff into her backpack, catching Finn's incredulous eye and smirking at him. Her teeth were very, very white.

As he watched, curious, the girl went to the window and opened it. Mullet-boy stuck his head through and whispered to her. She nodded eagerly, shoving her bag out the window and swinging a leg through. Finn couldn't help but grin. Sneaking out on the first day? She had guts.

Then, a door squeaked from the front of the room and Gunter appeared. The room went into a dead hush. Ricardio tried to hide a fizzing container behind his back. Gunter looked at them with glazed eyes, blinking slowly. "What's going on?" he squawked.

Finn looked to the side. The girl was halfway out the window, desperately trying to keep herself from falling either way. Mullet-boy was nowhere to be found, and she didn't look too happy about that fact. She gave him a look of silent pleading. There was a cabinet in her way, but Gunter only had to take one more step before he saw her in full.

And so, for reasons he didn't quite understand, Finn did what felt natural in the situation. He grabbed every beaker within reach and poured them into the same cup.

And the room exploded.

* * *

To be fair, as Gunter explained to him later, it didn't really explode. Finn had managed to set off a reaction in the beaker that caused a small fire and singed the front of Finn's shirt and eyebrows. He didn't even appear to be angry; more impressed that a freshman could screw up that badly in fewer than ten minutes. Jake was less impressed. He chewed out Finn in the nurse's office a few minutes later as a burly woman in a too-tight uniform held a cold compress to Finn's forehead.

It sounded something like: "What-the-hell-were-you-doing-you-moron-here-less- than-a-day-and-you-blow-up-a-lab-what-did-I-tell-y ou-this-morning-because-it-wasn't-to-go-around-and -explode-everything-no-sir-you-are-in-so-much-trou ble-your-ass-is-grass." Which was then followed by "Thank God you're safe," and a hug.

That was the nice thing about Jake. He didn't stay mad for long. Even after Finn told him of his incoming detention, he only grumbled for a minute before admitting that Leningrad was, indeed, a crazy poot-face.

It was lunch, now, and Finn was standing in the cafeteria with a Band-aid on his face and a tray of something in his hands. He didn't know what to do.

He could go sit with some other kids, but they'd probably laugh and call him "Meeeeeerrrrrteeeeens," in the Leningrad voice they had all been using this morning. He could go sit by himself, but that would discourage anyone to talk to him. Decisions, decisions…

Then, there was a sudden pressure on his elbow and he found himself being tugged towards a table and shoved into a seat. Someone sat down across from him.

The girl from BioLab. Grinning and placing her tray down on the table. "Sup. Finn, right?"

Finn blinked stupidly, stunned. "Uh… yeah."

The girl nodded, snatching his red apple off his tray and peeling the sticker off. "I'm Marceline. You gonna eat this?" Without waiting for him to answer, she took a bite from it.

Finn frowned. "Not anymore."

Marceline grinned through a mouthful of apple. "Thought not." After another bite, she continued: "So, you don't have to sit with me if I skeeve you out. I just wanted to say you were pretty cool back in BioLab."

Finn smiled, despite himself. "Oh. Thanks."

Marceline shrugged. "I mean, it was really kind of stupid. You could have just… y'know… distracted the Penguin some other way. Like, you could have thrown a shoe at him. Or pretended to have a heart attack."

Finn's head was whirling. This girl was… a little overwhelming. "A heart attack?"

She nodded, hair bouncing. "Yeah. Like…" And without warning, Marceline toppled off the back of her chair and clutched her chest, arching her back off the ground. "OGAWD!" she wailed, squirming. "MY HEART! I… OH! MY POOR HEART!" The cafeteria turned to stare, and Finn felt his ears begin to burn under his hat as Marceline began to scream about feeling death creep up on her.

"I get it, _I get it_, _IGEDDIT_!" he hissed at her, getting out of his seat and pulling her off the ground. "Stop… doing that!"

Marceline giggled, dropping her act immediately. Her face was flushed red, but from exertion, not embarrassment. "Fine, fine. But admit it. That would have been easier than blowing up a classroom."

Finn scowled as the two took their seats again. "I did not blow up a classroom."

She leaned across the table to pat him on the head. "Sure you didn't, you little pyro, you."

Finn swatted at her hand. "Shut up. Where's that guy with the mullet?" Marceline's face grew quiet, and she looked down at her apple.

"Ash?" she asked in an odd voice. "Oh. He, uh… eats with other juniors. I'm a freshman."

Finn felt this was a touchy subject. "What did you call Gunter earlier?"

Marceline's face lit up again. "The Penguin."

"Why?"

Marceline shrugged. "He looks like one. And talks like one. Like," she screwed up her face and squawked. _"Wenk!"_

Finn snorted. "Wenk?"

Marceline laughed. "Penguins say _wenk_! All the time!"

"They do not!"

"Do _too_!"

Finn was laughing in earnest now. "How many penguins have you met?"

"Tons! Hundreds!" Marceline said, trying to keep a straight face. "You don't know my life!" Then, something seemed to catch her eye and she waved someone over. "Marsh!"

A boy trotted up to them, black razor-cut hair flopping in his face. A red plaid flannel was tied around his waist, and the strap of a guitar cut across his black t-shirt. He carried a skateboard. Finn recognized him; he was the one who had knocked him over today. Finn shrunk in his seat slightly as the boy gave him a cool look.

"Marshall Lee, Finn Something. Finn Something, Marshall Lee," Marceline waved casually. "Marshall, do penguins say _wenk_?"

Marshall Lee was staring straight at Finn, eyebrow raised. "Stop being weird, Marcy," he said casually. Then, to Finn: "You the guy Leningrad cussed out today?"

Finn nodded, blushing slightly. Marshall smirked, an action remarkably similar to Marceline. "Sucks for you. How'd you like my note?"

Finn was stunned. "You wrote that? Why did you pass it to me?"

Marshall shrugged. "Dunno. I liked your hat. S'cool."

Finn wasn't sure he had heard right. "My _hat_?"

"Yeah. Anyone who wears a hat like that is just as weird as me." Marshall turned to Marceline. "Practice at three today. And penguins don't say _wenk_." And with that, he left.

Finn watched him go. "He didn't even apologize."

Marceline laughed lightly. "Marshall never apologizes. You'll have to get used to it."

The rest of lunch was spent in silence on Finn's part, as Marceline told him all about her band. Marshall on guitar, she on bass and vocals.

He walked away with a sticker stuck to his binder: _The Nightosphere._

* * *

"Hey," Jake said as Finn slid into the seat of his station wagon. "How was school?" Finn shrugged. "You make any friends?"

Finn thought about Marshall knocking him over, Marshall getting him in trouble, Marceline sneaking out, Marceline stealing his apple, laughing with Marceline, Marshal calling his hat cool…

Finn grinned and answered as honestly as he could. "I have no idea."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for all the support. To answer a question: I'm not sure if this will be a Finn/Marcy, or a Finn/PB, or a Finn/FP, or whatever. Tell me what you'd like in the comment section; I'm open to whatever.**

* * *

It was three weeks after school started, three weeks after meeting Marceline and Marshall, when it happened again.

_They were coming. He could feel them. Close on either side. Claustrophobic._

_Where was she? They were getting closer._

_Closer._

_Close-_

Finn jerked awake with a gasp. He laid still, heart pounding, wincing as he noticed he had sweated through his pajamas.

It had been almost five months since the last one. He had almost fooled himself into thinking they weren't coming anymore.

He had to get out of this room. It was too dark. Too crowded. He pushed himself out of bed, walking through the dark apartment, feeling his way along the walls to keep from falling.

Walking would be good. Walking would clear his head.

Walking would make the memories go away.

_Standing on a dock, toes peeking over the edge as someone held him under the arms._

_Walking in a park, holding someone's hand._

_Snow. His hat knocked off by a snowball. Someone brushing off his hair and kissing his cheek with a laugh._

He found himself on the balcony, overlooking the forest outside the apartment. It was cold outside; the wind bit through his pajamas. It felt good to be cold. His eyes landed on a lone tree, standing proud in the middle of the field. His vision was blurry. He was crying.

_Policemen at his house. Asking him questions he didn't know the answer to._

_Where was his mother? How would he know? He was nine. Only nine. _

_Jake showing up. Taking him out for ice cream. Not caring when he didn't eat any of it. _

_Rubbing his back when he started to cry in the middle of the parking lot._

The dirt was painful under his feet; he should have worn slippers. He rested a hand on the bark of the tree.

How did he get out here? What time was it?

He didn't want to go back inside.

He sat down at the base of the tree. Curled his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Closed his eyes.

Jake found him a few hours later, in a complete panic. Finn was freezing; his feet and hands hurt. He was woken up, and started crying like a toddler. Jake hugged him. Helped him go back to the apartment. Got him to shower, to choke down some soup, only to help him when he threw it up ten minutes later.

It was Jake who called in sick for both of them (thank God it's Friday). Jake who gave some bullshit excuse why they couldn't come to school. Jake who sat in Finn's room to get him to sleep. He never tried to talk about it, and Finn appreciated that.

Finn didn't want to talk about it. He never wanted to talk about it. Not when he was a kid, and not now.

Some people had recurring nightmares about being naked in public; some about their teeth falling out. But Finn? His were always the same.

It started with him standing somewhere, all alone, waiting for his mom. He was younger; the ground was closer under him. And he knew he couldn't leave, because she wouldn't know where to find him if he did. And slowly, it would get darker and darker. And voices would start to whisper in his ear. A horrible creeping feeling would fill his belly, and just as someone grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, he'd wake up.

The Waiting Dream had been going for six years. It started when Finn was nine. When his mom died, and he went to live with Jake. He'd been sent to a child psychologist, who made Finn draw a whole bunch of pictures and talk to a puppet. That didn't last long.

Finn didn't know where they came from. He didn't know when he'd have one. All he knew is they were hell. And they wouldn't stop.

"Poor guy," Jake said softly after he thought Finn was asleep, looking up from his book. He had taken the same position he'd taken when his brother was a kid- parked in a chair, right in front of the door. To guard off monsters. Except Finn's monsters were in his head.

"Poor guy. Why does this have to happen to _you_?"

Finn had no answer.

* * *

Finn woke up late that night with his phone buzzing and blaring a song he had never heard. Next to him was B-MO, who snuffled in his sleep at the noise. Jake had left, probably to sleep.

"_Come on baby, it's your lucky day/ shut your mouth, we're gonna do it my way…"_

Finn fumbled for a second, clicking "talk." He couldn't even get a word out before someone started speaking a mile a minute in his ear.

"_Finn? Hope this is you. You asleep?"_

Finn blinked. "No."

"_No, it's not you, or no, you're not asleep?"_

Finn's head was spinning. "Marceline? How did you get my number?"

"_I jacked your phone at lunch the other day when you got up to get an apple. Did you like the ringtone?"_

"I… what was that?"

"'_Date Rape.' You know, Sublime." _Finn was silent, and Marceline let out a laugh of disbelief. _"You've never heard of Sublime? Who _are _you? Hey, Marsh!"_ he heard her call off-line. _"This kid's never heard of Sublime."_

He looked at his clock. Twelve forty-five. Finn groaned. "It's one in the morning."

"_Twelve forty-five, dummy. Hey, where were you today? Well, yesterday, really. Whatever. Come over. Marsh and I have a new song that we just got through without totally whiffing it. Come listen."_

"Marceline. What are you doing up at twelve forty-five?"

"_We like being up late. It's easier to rehearse around here when no one else is up. Are you coming or what?"_

Finn pushed himself up on his elbows and yawned. "No, I'm not coming. It's one in the morning." His sleepy brain suddenly connected a few dots. "Wait- Marshall's at your house?"

"_Course he is, stupid. Hold on."_ There was a crackle of static, and Marshall's voice came on the line.

"_Finn?"_

"Yeah?"

"_How have you never heard of Sublime?"_

"Marshall, I am not coming over."

Across the hall, Finn heard a few muffling sounds. He went silent for a second, before speaking (more quietly) into the phone. "How about tomorrow?"

Marshall chuckled. _"What, mom said no? You always do what you're told?"_

Finn had no answer.

"_Fine. Noon. We'll pick you up."_

The line went dead. B-MO farted and rolled over.

* * *

The text came at noon on the dot: _We're the red one._

Grabbing his jacket and saying goodbye to Jake (who gave him a weak smile, still looking tired and pale) Finn tried to puzzle out what that meant. The red what? Then Finn stepped outside.

Oh. _Oh._

The red _truck._

Marceline had her head stuck out the window of a large red pickup truck, waving at him from their parking space across the street. Music was blasting from the car, dirty rap lyrics that were making a few neighbors stick their heads out of their windows and murmur darkly. "FINN! Yo!"

As if he could miss her.

Finn jogged over to the car, throwing himself in the back seat. "What's this?" he asked, grinning for the first time in two days.

"His name is the Bombardier," Marshall said over the music, throwing the truck into gear and pealing out of the spot.

Finn raised an eyebrow. "You have your license?"

"He was held back when he was younger," Marceline said casually, turning around in the passenger seat and wrinkling her nose at the bags under Finn's eyes. "Yuck, what's wrong with you?"

Finn glared at her. "I didn't sleep well last night, remember?"

Marceline shrugged, smirking, as Marshall gave Finn a hard look in the rearview mirror. "Here are the rules," he said seriously. "You do not EAT in the Bombardier. You do not SHOUT in the Bombardier. You do not touch the RADIO in the Bombardier. And if you get any dirt, mud or dust in my baby, I will beat you to death with a napkin."

Finn blinked, trying hard to hide his smile. "You can beat someone to death with a napkin?"

Marshall shrugged. "I'll have fun trying."

* * *

"Here we are," Marceline said after a long drive filled with nothing but comfortable silence and loud, vulgar rap (Finn would have to look some of the more… c_olorful_ phrases up when he got home). The three of them pulled into a driveway in front of a large, weather beaten house painted a faded shade of blue.

The front lawn was overgrown with long grass and weeds, flanked by large trees on either side. One had a tire swing hanging from a lower bough. Children's toys littered the front stoop and a lone pink shoe was discarded on the sidewalk. Marceline practically vaulted out the window, making her way to the garage. Finn and Marshall followed a little more slowly.

"Your sister's got a lot of energy," Finn commented.

Marshall sniffed. "Marcy's not my sister."

The silence that followed was awkward and confused enough to last until the two got to the garage. After shouldering open a sticky door, the two boys found Marceline arguing with another girl.

Finn took a quick look around. In the far back of the garage sat a pair of amps and a mike stand, settled in front of a homemade sign reading: _The Nightosphere. _The rest of the space was taken up by a beaten-up couch and a TV.

Three little boys were sitting on the couch, watching Marceline and the girl argue with unabated interest. They looked similar- all tiny, pudgy, blonde, and pale, with short arms and legs. The only foreseeable differences were hair length, and one of the little boys had freckles. Finn gave them a cautious wave, and they smiled shyly and looked at their sneakered feet.

"You've had the garage all day!" the girl arguing with Marceline complained, and Finn noticed with surprise how surprisingly deep her voice was. ". I've been totally busy texting Brad. He asked if I like chili fries. We're getting pretty serious."

The chubby girl flipped a mass of dark curls over her shoulder, glaring up at Marceline. She stood at least a foot shorter than her foe, rotund body peeking out between layers of a purple velvet sweat suit. The seat of her pants read: _PRINCESS._ She noticed Finn staring at her and curled her lip at him. "What the lump do _you _want?"

"Leave him alone, Lucy," Marceline snapped, crossing her arms. "This isn't about him. Now, out of our studio."

"This isn't a studio. It's a garage," Lucy said waspishly, crossing her arms back. "I'm thirteen, Marceline. This the time for me to shine. The time for me to impress Brad with my rockin' hot new bod, after I lose ten pounds and straighten my hair and get plastic surgery when that stuff doesn't work. How am I supposed to do that if you don't let me watch Top Model?"

"You're not getting plastic surgery," Marceline said tiredly. "Now, OUT."

Lucy stomped her foot. "But the Cuties want to watch it with me!" She looked expectantly at the triplets on the couch. There was a long pause. One of the triplets sneezed. Lucy let out an odd groan and stomped her way out of the garage, muttering all the way. "Stupid lumping people… lame band… lame house… posers… wait 'till Melissa hears about this…"

Marceline smiled at her victory, ushering the triplets off the couch and up the stairs to the house. "Go on, guys. We're working."

One of the little boys stopped dead in front of Finn. "Are you a satin-est?"

Finn blinked. "What?"

The little boy wiped his nose. "'Cuz my friend Josh said Marcy n' Marshall are satin-ests."

"We're not Satanists, Cutie," Marceline said in a tone that suggested they'd had this talk before.

"We're musicians," Marshall piped up from the corner, tuning his guitar. The boy sniffed again, following his brothers up the stairs.

Marceline gave Finn an apologetic look. "Sorry. Lucy's a brat."

Finn sat down on the couch, trying not to cough as dust floated up. "Who were those guys?"

"Our foster siblings," Marshall said casually. Finn didn't know how to respond to that. "The Cuties are triplets," Marshall continued, still not looking up from his guitar. "One's Cole, one's Caleb, one's Connor. We'll never know which."

Finn nodded. "And Lucy?"

"Her parents are our fosters," Marceline said quietly. "She's not… good about sharing. And she's pretty vocal about that fact."

Finn looked back and forth between the two of them. "So… you two are…?"

"We're not related," Marshall said flatly. "But we've been here the longest. 'Bout six years for Marcy, five for me."

There was a small silence. Marceline cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Finn… I mean, if you're uncomfortable, or whatever, you could call your parents and go home. Or we could drop you off or whatever. No big deal."

Finn smiled at her, quailing inside. "I live with my brother. No parents."

"Lucky duck," Marshall muttered, and Marceline elbowed him. "Ow! I mean, uh… why not?" Marceline elbowed him again. "AUGH! Geez, woman! Lay off!"

Finn shrugged and looked at the floor. "No, it's fine. I never met my dad. And my mom…" he swallowed hard. "Mom died when I was nine."

There was a short silence, and Marceline grinned. "Hey- let's play that song."

Finn smiled, and as Marceline and Marshall started to argue affectionately about the instrumental, he settled comfortably into the couch. He decided that the answer to Jake's question was: "Yes."

He did have friends.


End file.
